


Nineteenth Century Russia- Preparations

by ambitionismyfolly



Category: Natasha Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812 - Malloy
Genre: Anatole/Dolokhov (somewhat one-sided), F/M, I'm sorry Fedya, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 23:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13868046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambitionismyfolly/pseuds/ambitionismyfolly
Summary: Preparations- Dolokhov realizes he doesn't want Anatole to leave, wishing they could run away together instead. He begs Anatole to stay, but Anatole ignores him.





	Nineteenth Century Russia- Preparations

“Ah, Anatole!” Pierre called out to the hurrying man. “Where are you off too?”

“Pierre, good man, tonight I go away, on an... adventure. You’ll not be seeing me for some time,” he said with a wink. “I’ve found a new pleasure, and I’m taking her away. I’ll send you a letter from Poland.”

“An elopement!” Pierre chortled with faint amusement. “Fool, you are married already!”

Anatole waved him off. “Don’t talk to me of that! I will not deprive myself of this one,” he added slyly. “Tonight, I take her, tonight!” He held out his hand. “Lend me fifty rubles?”

~~~

Dolokhov sat anxiously in his study. Everything had been arranged, all the preparations made.  
Anatole was going to run off with Natalie. He prayed that Sonya decided to save her after all. It would save him too, but he couldn’t admit that to anyone. He suspected Anatole knew, but he didn’t seem to care. Dolokhov sighed. He knew the plan, Anatole had made sure of that. Natasha was to be on her back porch at ten, Anatole and his troika would scoop her up and then they’d ride forty miles to the village of Kamenka where an unfrocked priest- the priest Dolokhov had found- was to make ’em get wed. Then back into the troika, off they’d go, take the Poland highroad to the wedding bed.

Anatole was going over it all yet again, muttering about passports, horses, rubles “...ten thousand raised with your help.” he offered a small smile to Dolokhov at the last words. Dolokhov smiled back faintly. That’s all Anatole wanted from him now- help. And money, of course. 

They were all gathered round, drinking up some tea. Just Anatole, the two wedding witnesses, and he. How he wished it were just Anatole and him, longed to see him just one last time before he was gone for good. He stared dismally at the abacus and paper money strewn on the desk before looking away, choosing instead to focus on the hanging Persian rugs and grotesque bearskins. He sighed, wishing things could go back to the way they were before the lovely Natalie had shown up and unknowingly snatched his beloved Toly away.

He glanced up at him, walking to and fro with his uniform unbuttoned. Dolokhov followed him with his eyes, to and fro, to and fro, to and fro. He was muttering about rubles again. Dolokhov shook his head. The fact that he’d had to borrow the money for this made it even more scandalous. He felt a shred of remorse for helping him. Of course he wanted Anatole to be happy, but it seemed so unfair, especially when the things he spent his money on Dolokhov could willingly provide. And some nights he had, but Anatole would never settle if he knew he could get more. Dolokhov had accepted that by now, but still- already married and playing with a little girl, this was pushing things too far. 

He had to tell Anatole, he had to be rational. “Now wait!” he exclaimed, jumping up from his chair. “You better just give it up now! Why dontcha? While there’s still time! You’d really better drop it all. Give it up now! While there’s still time! Do you know?” he pressed.

“What, teasing again? Fool!” Anatole snapped."Don’t talk nonsense! Go to the devil! Eh?” he turned sharply to glare at Dolokhov. “Really, this is no time for your stupid jokes.”

Dolokhov stammered and quickly tried again. “I am not joking, I am talking sense. This is serious business, a dangerous business. Come here, come here, come here Anatole!” he begged, grabbing his hand and pulling the other man closer. “Why would I joke about it, me of all people?” he pleaded. “Who found the priest, raised the money, got the passports, got the horses...?” he rambled. 

“And well I thank you for it. Do you think I am not grateful?” Anatole snarled, yanking his hand away.

“And now you’ll carry her away, but will they let it stop there?” Dolokhov continued, rushing his words. “You haven’t thought this through or do you just don’t care? Now listen to me tell it to you one last time- they will take you to the court and convict you for your crime!” he tried to sound his most compelling, to make Anatole see. He would be a criminal, an outcast. Dolokhov would never be able to see him again, and he couldn’t live with that. “Already married and you’re playing with a little girl,” he tried. “Don’t you know, don’t you think, doncha you know?”

“Nonsense. Nonsense!” Anatole spat, shoving away from him. Dolokhov couldn’t hide the hurt in his eyes, the way Anatole was scowling and grimacing at him, as he repeated his argument for what felt like the hundredth time with the stubborn attachment small-minded people have.

“If this marriage isn’t valid, then I’m off the hook. But if it is valid, it really doesn’t matter! No one abroad is gonna know a thing about it. Isn’t that so, now, don’t you know?” Dolokhov went to reply, but Anatole shooed him away. “Don’t talk to me, don’t don’t what what- ah, go to hell now!” Anatole cried, clutching his hair, his voice rising with the tension. “It’s the very devil! Here, feel how it beats!” he exclaimed, taking Dolokhov’s hand and pressing it to his heart. For an instant, Dolokhov dared to hope that maybe, just maybe- Natasha stepped into the light across the room.

“Ah ma chere, ma chere!” Anatole exclaimed, dropping Dolokhov’s hand, his handsome lips muttering something tender. Dolokhov found himself lost, staring at Anatole for what could easily be the last time.

“It’s time,” he said, turning back to Dolokhov, the urgency in his voice forcing him back into reality. “It’s time! Now then! Nearly ready? You’re dawdling!” he ridiculed. “The driver is here.” Dolokhov reached out and clung to Anatole’s hand as he moved for the door. “The driver is here.” He couldn’t let go, not now. He couldn’t lose Anatole like this. He had to convince him that this wasn’t a joke, that he wasn’t being senseless. Anatole took Natasha’s hand. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to beg, when Anatole stepped through the doorway, pulling his hand away from Dolokhov. “Balaga is here!” and with that he was gone, hand in hand with Natalie, leaving Dolokhov helpless and broken in the doorway.


End file.
